


A Mouth Speaking Great Things And Blasphemies And Power

by Necroplantser



Series: Scion of the Sixth House [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Ancestors, Asphyxiation, Body Horror, Character Death In Dream, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Ficlet, House Dagoth (Elder Scrolls), Idol Worship, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, ancestors and the becoming of ancestors in dreams, except Dagoth Ur is a god how can you kill a god?, figured out the difference between Dreamers and Sleepers, not homestuck ancestors if you're here from that tag expecting homestuck I'm sorry, seriously listen to Eluveitie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necroplantser/pseuds/Necroplantser
Summary: The House Dagoth dreams and dreaming of a displaced descendant desperate to disconnect from disparaging... post-assimilation House kin.
Series: Scion of the Sixth House [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121333
Kudos: 6





	A Mouth Speaking Great Things And Blasphemies And Power

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by:
> 
> -Bipolar mania  
> -Nicotine addiction  
> -Alcohol withdrawal  
> -Schizophrenic hallucinations  
> -Hypnagogic visions  
> -Sleep paralysis  
> -Nightterrors  
> -My roommate's five sleep disorders  
> -Religious and familial trauma  
> -A no good terrible very bad two days  
> -Eluveitie bingelistening  
> -Decadron mood swings  
> -Staying up til 2am and waking up at 6am to continue writing
> 
> I'm not okay, thanks. But seriously, if you want to know Sur's persona, give Eluveitie's "Worship" "Ne Regv Na" and "Thousandfold" a listen. And make sure to leave a comment with what you thought! I love those.

In his dream, Sur was unrecognizable, as often one is in a dream, but tonight was different. Tonight he had fallen asleep in the silt strider about a third of the way to Maar Gan, uncomfortable in the hollow shell that he couldn’t quite be sure was the insect or himself. He tossed and turned, even fast asleep, hearing laughter right beside him that sounded nothing like the caravaneer as he drifted off; vague conversations in the distance within the white noise of ash storms.

In his dream, he was as his chimer ancestors. Golden skin, ruddy brown hair when he looked into a reflection, a scrappy matching beard that was really just a collection of sparse hairs under his chin. Lensoth Drinith, his dream-self called himself, no mention of Sur or Suris, only Lensoth in the sprawling stone city. 

Finding himself in control of his own dream, Sur-Lensoth dove deeper, realizing soon that it was empty. Empty, empty, now red candles lined the walls, bathing it in a warm yet sinister light. Chanting came seemingly from nowhere in a language Sur-Lensoth strained to recognize, almost in a musical tone, whispers discordant with the foreign words.

“Return to us,” crooned a voice. Soprano, feminine. “Come of His flesh, in His flesh, come back to us…” 

Sur-Lensoth fell to hard ground on hands and knees, fingers splayed out before him, head and back bowed. The armored feet of ghosts passed through his vision until one stopped and took a knee before him.

“Muthsera Drinith,” said a face Sur-Lensoth could not see, as his head would not leave its fixed position. “Won’t you join us?” The voice was reedy, grating on his sensitive ears, and the owner of it held a golden hand out to him. He took it, and watched a gradient of grey form at his and their fingertips. As it overtook their respective arms, seeping up into the bodies like Blight infection, Sur-Lensoth found the strength to raise his head and see a torso, tarnished and tarnish-ing gold, a neck with no face.

“Look on us,” said the faceless mer. “And know your people again. Come to your power. Come to your House.”

Sur-Lensoth, arcing his back downwards and putting force into rising to a kneel, firmly grasped the skinny grey hand holding his, and opened his eye.

He saw his own face. He saw Lensoth, first, and then as Lensoth’s face took on the dunmeri grey, he saw Sur. Lensoth as he was, sea-green eyes, sharp nose and strong face-bones all grinning. Sur as he had never been, despite his clean-shaven face and long brown hair, he saw a bright crimson eye placed artfully in the center of his mirror image’s forehead, his dainty features still grinning, but sharper. The face that was his ancestor’s and then his returned to nothingness.

“Come,” said not-Sur-Lensoth. “Come and know Him.” And Sur-Lensoth was taken up to his feet by not-Sur-Lensoth, and pulled into the traveling throng. They still held hands, Sur-Lensoth and his dream-twin, and walked together into that red light and song.

Something caught in his throat as they passed by a wicker statue bearing clumps of flesh. When he made to cough, it refused to come up, growing thick and wet in his windpipe no matter how hard he hacked and retched, even letting go of not-Sur-Lensoth to claw at his neck. Choking, he fell back. Out of his body he saw his face take on a sickly blue tint as the air in his lungs became trapped, unable to leave or be replaced. He dropped down, wheezing, the scene before him turning dark as he lost sight of not-Sur-Lensoth. “You are so nearly there,” said their voice anyway, clear as if they were speaking right into his ear.

He watched as his fingers bent oddly, sharp in the poor lighting, his skin itching like bugs crawling through his flesh. Not-Sur-Lensoth came into his narrowing vision again, lifting him up and carrying him to a pillar. They sat him down to rest, slumped with his back to it, heaving labored breaths and struggling to hack up the horrible thing in his windpipe. Not-Sur-Lensoth’s bony hand was placed, he noticed, palm against his bare chest, and pushed through just as Sur-Lensoth worked the blockage out.

A distorted, discolored wad of moistened flesh dropped into his lap, and only as soon as he could breathe again, his dream-twin looked into his eyes with the face they still lacked, and pushed their hand through muscle and bone to pull out his heart with a sickening wet sound.

“In His flesh, Muthsera Drinith, as all of us,” said not-Sur-Lensoth, their voice fading as the dream tapered out to the sight of a clean, as if cauterized, wound, his heart still beating faintly in their red light-tinted hands.

  
  
  


Sur woke with a start in the carapace of the silt strider, the caravaneer prodding at him and bidding him wake. He frantically felt at his face, his forehead, finding nothing different from when he had last seen his waking self, not seeing the weary caravaneer find nothing of value in his craze. 

“You done yet?” asked the old mer, and Sur stopped in his tracks, hands spread over his chest now to make sure his sternum was still intact.

“Eh?” Sur quickly righted himself. “Yes, sorry. Had a bit of a sleep there…”

“I’ll say,” he grumbled, not looking Sur in the eye. In fact, he was looking quite another way, out towards the city. “You were talking the whole time. Can’t find it in myself to care much, since you’re paying me, but we’re in Maar Gan now.” Finally, he looked to Sur. “Mind you don’t do that in front of the locals, yeah? You’re much too young to get in trouble like that. Too much life ahead of ya.”

Sur nodded in vague agreement, and gathered his things as he stepped carefully, dizzily, off the platform, rubbing images of a beating heart -- his own? Could he be sure? -- and glimmering gold from his sleepy eyes. 

He wouldn’t stay in Maar Gan long, only enough to get his bearings in order and find his way to Kogoruhn. Without a map… but he would find a way. He’d seen it in the dreams that brought him to this place, his ancestors’ tomb and the capital city where they had lived. The image of his father, of Dreyns Andrano’s body, lifeless and soaked, replaced his rest-shaken visions long enough for him to put the dream away -- and think on it another time.


End file.
